


In-Patient/Outpatient

by pitypartyof1



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, Clinic Manager Q, F/M, Fun at Work, Hockey, M/M, Physical Therapist AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:10:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4507242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pitypartyof1/pseuds/pitypartyof1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick Kane is a physical therapist in the hospital's outpatient clinic. The first time he meets Jonny while covering in-patient, he's smitten. Now he's routinely volunteering to cover in-patient, even when they don't need help. Sharpy, who can't seem to manage a date with the clinic's receptionist, is mocking him, and Duncs is feeding ridiculous stories to an impressionable Jonny. Patrick's life is hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coverage

**Author's Note:**

> The only thing I can say is that I work for a PT clinic, and it's pretty much exactly like this, minus relationships. We have a lot of fun, and we're never serious. The amount of shit that goes down in my workplace... Would probably get us written up by OSHA and the Joint Commission.
> 
> At any rate, please enjoy, and, as always... Leave me love. I get so excited reading everyone's thoughts and feedback!

The first time Patrick gets sent up to work in-patient, it’s because Seabs calls in sick. He sighs in defeat when Q manages to hunt him down in the clinic. Apparently it’s harder to hide when you have to treat patients. He tells Sophia to take a few moments rest, and that her flexion is on track, nearly at 100 degrees now, and it’s time to ice down.

“Kane,” Q converges on him. “Seabrook is out sick with the flu that’s seeping around the halls over there. I need you to cover for him. They’re drowning in evals down there.”

“I have a patient.” Patrick’s protest is weak. They both know that his morning is wide-fucking-open after he finishes putting Sophia on ice. Q meets his eyes and stares him down. Patrick’s shoulders sag, and he huffs in resignation. They both also know that Patrick does not have a choice. He’ll be headed up to in-patient as soon as possible.

“Thank you,” Q says, brushing past, no doubt on his way to check that their documentation for the week is being completed in a timely manner.

Patrick is incredibly far behind, as usual. He resigns himself to that lecture later when he gets back to see his afternoon patients. In-patient is not his favorite. Patients are usually in pain, which in turn makes them grumpy. Today is just not his day. Wandering over to the back fridge, he grabs an ice pack. He’s a bit rougher than strictly necessary when he stuffs the thing into a pillowcase and makes his way back to Sophia.

He gets her settled with the gel pack wrapped snugly around her knee. “Alright, Mrs. Mather,” he addresses her, “I have to head over and help out at the other end of the hospital. I’m going to have Corey get you off ice in 15 minutes, okay?”

“Patrick, sweetie,” she says in the wobbly voice of the elderly, “must you go? You know I really only like to see you. You’re very good to me, dear. My daughter would absolutely love you, you must meet her.”

“I’ve met Annie, Mrs. Mather, and her husband. They’re very nice.” Smiling indulgently at her, he gestures over at Crow where he’s working pulleys with his own patient. “That’s Corey. He’ll be over to help you when the timer goes off, and I’ll see you again on Wednesday.”

Patting his had vaguely, she mumbles “alright, dear,” and sinks back into her pillows. He tries to be gentle about removing her hand, but Q’s giving him a master stink eye from the corner and he knows he needs to haul his ass out of there.

Taking the stairs three at a time up to the therapists’ office, he swipes his laptop, a spare legal pad, and his favorite Peter Pan pen. Heading off down the halls to in-patient, he shoots a salute to Sharpy, who’s flirting with Kate, on the way out. As he speed walks, Patrick spares a moment to wonder if Sharpy will ever actually ask their receptionist on a date. He certainly spends enough time pigtail pulling during the day.

When he finally hits the Med/Surg hall, Duncs spots him and greets his with a look that is nothing short of relief.

“Man, am I glad to see you. I swear, the Ortho docs were stockpiling surgeries and did them all yesterday. We’ve got three total knees, one repaired ACL, a couple total hips, and a couple rotator cuff repairs, plus some others.”

“Christ,” Patrick mumbles, “Q wasn’t shitting me.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says, louder, “time to get to work, bud.”

Duncs grins, “can I get that on record? We’re going to get some work out of you?”

Patrick shoves him in retaliation. “Shut up, dick, you know I’m a master. All the patients want Patrick Kane.”

He’s pretty sure that earns him an eye-roll from Duncs, but he’s already halfway down the hall to find out who’s first on his list. Once he gets his station set up, he’s focused on his laptop, opening up documentation and notes for the total knee replacement he’s seeing in Room 201. As such, he doesn’t immediately notice when a tall, dark haired someone pauses by the desk, steals his pen, and takes off down the hall. By the time he realizes what’s happened, the guy disappears into one of the rooms, and Patrick is furious. Snatching up his own chart, he reluctantly takes one of the shitty hospital pens and knocks on 201, poking his head in.

The eval takes longer than he’d like. His patient is an overweight woman in poor general health to begin with. Despite the fact that she’s been laid up here for two days now, there’s a distinct smell of smoke hovering around her. Persuading her up out of bed to walk takes all of Patrick’s patience; she calls him a lot of names. By the end of it, Patrick’s concluded that she really is a foul old woman, and his mood is dark. He makes a note to let Kate know that when the woman calls to schedule outpatient, he does not want to see her on his list.

Slumping into the chair at his station, he allows himself a moment of self-pity before beginning the process of inputting his manual notations of exercises and measurements into the documentation program. A few minutes later, Duncs slides into the seat next to him.

“201? The nurses said she’s a real peach. How’d it go?”

“Fantastic,” Patrick growls. Then, “hey, who’s the douche that stole my pen; you guys get someone new up here?”

“Tall guy,” Duncs gestures, hand held up high. “Bambi eyes?”

“Never saw his face,” Patrick grunts. “He’s tall, got dark hair, that the guy?”

Shrugging Duncs says “yeah, that sounds like Jon. He stole your fairy pen?”

“Fucking yes and I want it back. These things the hospital provides are pathetic. And it’s Peter Pan,” he adds after a breath. “Tinkerbell’s not my type.”

Duncs snickers at him. “Right, well, if I run into him, I’ll let him know the fairy wants his fairy pen back.”

“Ass,” Patrick smacks him.

Laughing harder, because he’s an asshole, Duncs gets up and leaves Patrick to his work, heading into another room.

The rest of the morning sails by pretty quickly. His next few patients are much better than the first, and Patrick doesn’t know which deity to thank, so he thanks a few. As he’s putting in his second-to-last note of the morning, something drops through his vision and lands on his keyboard. When Patrick looks up for the source, his immediate thought is that Duncs was right about the Bambi eyes. His second thought is that he is so, so, so fucked.

“Your pen,” the guy, Jon, deadpans. “I didn’t realize it had sentimental value. I’m sorry.”

Patrick blinks stupidly at him. “What?”

“Duncs said you always use that pen to draw Peter Pan naked, and you couldn’t draw without it.”

“What the fuck.”

Jon blinks at him. “Yeah, so here’s your pen. Good luck, uh, drawing?” Turning on his heel, he’s gone before Patrick can think of a way to deny that he draws Disney characters naked.

“I’ll get you for this, you ginger haired asswipe,” he hisses at Duncs’ still vacant chair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick deals with Q, and with Jonny going over his head.  
> Kate and Sharpy are super cute.

“It’s strange,” Patrick says, striding back into the clinic ten minutes before one o’clock and thumping Sharp on the back. “You never seem to move. Are you going to set up shop down here now?”

Sharpy just waggles his eyebrows, and Kate giggles. “Who knows,” he throws his arms wide, “this may just be my new domain!”

Kate coughs lightly. “I don’t think so.”

Sharpy turns huge eyes on her, looking betrayed. “What? Say it’s not so!”

Giggling again, she explains. “I don’t think I’d ever get my work done if you’re always up here driving me crazy. Also,” she takes a sip of the water she always carries, “you can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself. I might have to complain to HR one of these days.”

Sharpy gasps. “You wouldn’t! Besides, I know you love me and my hugs.”

She can’t keep a straight face. Patrick mimes puking behind Sharpy’s back as he swoons over Kate’s smile. Honestly, they’re disgusting. It was cute at first but now it’s getting out of hand. If Sharpy doesn’t ask her out soon, Patrick might do it just to see the look on his face.

 It’s not hard to see why he likes her. If Patrick swung that way, they’d probably be covertly fighting it out over her. Essentially a small ball of sunshine, with short brown hair, green eyes, and an amazing smile, she’s one of Patrick’s favorite people. It’s impossible to be upset around her, she radiates positivity.

He leaves them poking and prodding each other to head for his own desk. Rushing out earlier, he’d forgotten his phone, and he’s anxious to see if there are messages for him. Depositing laptop, pad and pen, he digs the device out of his desk drawer. There is one message, and it makes his cheeks heat. It’s from Duncs:

_Jonny says u dont look like u draw naked cartoons_

_i don’t!_ Patrick taps out angrily, fingers flying across the phone’s screen.

Immediately, he gets a _hahaha_ back.

_Ur a jerk_ , he sends back and chucks the stupid thing back into the drawer.

As he expected, Q corners him after he finishes with his first patient of the afternoon. He’s shouting at Mrs. Murphy that her ride is ready when Q bustles in. “Kane, my office for a minute.” And then he’s out the door before Patrick can object.

He walks Mrs. Murphy to the front desk, and then treks up the stairs to Q’s office in the back corner. “Documentation?” he asks as he takes a seat.

“Documentation,” Q confirms. “You know Medicare guidelines say we’ve got to get this shit sent in within a reasonable amount of time. I don’t want to babysit your ass. Get it done.”

“Yes, sir.”

Q gives him a searching look. “Understood?”

Patrick’s about to respond when Kate’s voice rings through the speaker of the phone on Q’s desk, “sir, do you have Patrick?”

Glaring at the source of the noise he says “I assume you mean Kane, because Patrick Sharp is bound to be at _your_ desk.”

She doesn’t miss a beat and Patrick grins. “Yes, sir, in-patient is on the line for him regarding a patient he treated this morning.”

“I’ll grab it in a moment,” Patrick says loudly, and she clicks off. Looking back to Q, he says “understood.”

Hightailing it out of Q’s office, Patrick’s thankful for the interruption. Catching up the phone on Shaw’s desk, he settles in to bitch at Duncs. “You’re an asshole,” he tells him, except –

“Excuse me?”

The deep voice on the other end is offended, and also definitely not Duncan. Patrick doesn’t know what to say, and there’s an incredibly long and awkward pause. “Whoops,” is the first thing out of his mouth.

“Patrick Kane?” the voice questions.

“Yep,” Patrick verifies, popping the p nice and loud into the receiver.

“Charming. Look, Room 201 is complaining that she needs to be up walking, but she only wants to see you.”

Patrick loses it, cracking up and guffawing loudly in the guy’s ear. “Man, I have never been more excited to have patients down here. Good luck with that one.”

“I see,” he says coolly, and then he hangs up in Patrick’s ear.

Twenty minutes later, when he’s got Austin face down, hands digging into the kid’s hamstring, Q finds him again. Patrick is beginning to think the man’s _trying_ to make his life miserable. However, since his hands are covered in soft tissue massage lotion and he’s busy working tension out of the leg of a very important sprinter, there’s not much he can do but watch Q approach. He feels Austin tense under his ministrations and realizes he’s digging in a bit harder than is strictly necessary. “Sorry,” he grunts.

“Kane,” Q doesn’t waste time getting to the point, “Sharp is taking your 2:45, they need you in in-patient.”

Sure the surprise must be showing on his face, he hisses “why can’t you send Sharp up?”

“They want you by request. Don’t argue; just go when you’re done.”

In grumpy silence, Patrick wonders how Q would like it if Patrick kept shouting his last name at him every time he wanted a word. He’s getting really tired of hearing “Kane!” today. It should only take him another five minutes to finish up with Austin, but he drags in into ten, just to keep the jerk that called Q waiting.

When he stumbles down in-patient twenty whole minutes later (he took his time, okay?), the guy with Bambi eyes is waiting for him. The grin he’s wearing makes him look like he’s a shark and Patrick is his prey. Patrick forgets to move for a moment and stops to stare at him. The guy takes that as his cue to stride over and stuff the chart he’s holding into Patrick’s chest. “Room 201,” he tells Patrick. “Have fun.”

Breaking out of his stupor, Patrick turns after him. “Are you the one that called?”

“Yep,” the guy calls back, imitating Patrick. “Jonathan Toews, nice to meet you.”

“Charming,” Patrick mimics back. “And we haven’t even met, you didn’t shake my hand.” As the last of the sentence spills out, Patrick clamps his mouth shut. Once again, he’s reminded of why his sisters say he’s so embarrassing. He’s also kind of a coward, so he sprints into 201 before Jon can respond. Unfortunately, this means he has to set to work with Belinda.

It takes exactly as long to get her out of bed this time as it had that morning, she still smells like a walking cigarette, and she calls him names that are possible even more offensive. However, he does get her walking. As they move down the hall, she tells him for the second time that his curls make him look like a dog in need of grooming.

“One of those dreadful ones, you know? With that disgusting, matted hair in their eyes. You should take better care of those curls.”

Patrick nods along and tries desperately to ignore her as she waddles away next to him.  

Things get a little better as the approach Jon, who’s standing in the hall, making a notation on a hand-held chart. In fact, Patrick might say it’s one of the best moments he’s ever bourn witness to. It takes her a bit to notice Jon, mostly because she’s still critiquing Patrick. But, when she does notice, she pauses in the middle of telling Patrick the gap in his teeth is unbecoming to point at Jon and say “now _that’s_ a butt.”

It takes every fiber of Patrick’s strength not to laugh out loud. The look on Jon’s face is absolutely priceless, and it only gets better when he turns in a supposed subtle manner and attempts to shield his ass behind a medical cart.

“Not big enough,” Patrick chokes out, clutching his stomach.

“Now,” Belinda turns back to him, “if you’d just workout a bit, you could be attractive.”

Patrick wants to be offended, but really, he’s more invested in miming big butts at Jon behind her back.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fun begins, and Patrick sees something he likes.

When Patrick rolls in on Wednesday, he’s getting a few looks from the guys. He’s pretty concerned about it right up until he sees his desk, sees what’s _on_ his desk, freezing in the center of the room. Everything he owns is covered in tinfoil. It reflects his very unimpressed expression back at him. Shaw immediately laughs in his face, completely delighted by Patrick’s disgruntled reaction.

Patrick is not laughing, he is absolutely steaming. Everything, really, did they have to? How he’s going to unwrap all this to find his shit, he doesn’t know. He’s packed with patients all day. “Who,” he growls, turning to Shaw, “is responsible for this?”

Unfortunately, Andrew’s still laughing too hard to answer, so it’s Sharpy who calls over on his way up the stairs. “We don’t know, man. We came in and it was like that. Got to say, I don’t think it was Q, so you’ll have to sleuth it out, bud.” He’s grinning mega-watt at Patrick when he makes it over, and he can see the mischief in Sharpy’s twinkling eyes.

“It’s not fucking funny,” he says.

“Actually, I’d  like to shake the gentleman’s hand when you find him. It’s absolutely hilarious.”

Patrick watches the grin stretch bigger and bigger and suddenly he’s hit with a maddening realization. “You know who did it.”

“I do,” Sharpy confirms.

“Seriously?” Patrick almost shouts. “This is getting out of fucking hand. Who was it? Was it Duncs?”

Sharpy bats his eyelashes at him, feigning complete innocence. “Come now, young Peeks, you must know I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”

Patrick flips him the bird and storms down to get some coffee. When he returns, he determines that it’s best to pretend he’s above it. He crinkles down into tinfoil covered chair, and flips the top of his tinfoil covered laptop open. Of course, when he catches sight of the massive butt set as his desktop background, he shrieks and slams it back down. He hears the shutter sound effect as Sharpy takes his picture. Everyone is laughing, except Patrick.

Patrick is not laughing, but he does know who is responsible now, and two can play this dangerous game. With a metallic groan from the chair, he snatches his phone from his back pocket and shoots a quick text to Seabrook.

_need ur help asap_

After a couple hours, he flips through Seab’s simple response: _why?_

_new guy is a dick_ , he sends back.

_what, jonny?_

Patrick proceeds to explain that Jonny is a giant jerk that needs to pay for all of his misdeeds. And possibly spend the rest of his days peeking around corners in fear of Patrick. He’s bent over his phone furiously texting when a shadow falls over him, hovering.

“Don’t you actually have work you’re supposed to be doing?” Shaw questions.

“What? Oh, he’s on the bike for ten,” Patrick tells him vaguely, waving away the question.

Shaw looks skeptical, but clearly decides to let it go. “So, you know who it was. What are you going to do?”

“Put Seabrook’s head down a toilet if he doesn’t help me,” he says, now texting rapidly again. “He owes me after that time with Duncs and the blow torch.”

Shaw snorts. “I almost forgot about that, but your hair came back pretty nicely.”

Patrick waves another dismissive hand at him. “Not the point. The point is that it should have been Seabs. He has plenty of hair, he can afford to lose a bit,” he says while reflexively running a hand over the hairline he knows is starting to head south. There’s silence for a couple seconds before Patrick lets out a victorious “ha!” and flips the phone to display the text from Seabs.

_fine. debt cancelled._

He sends back an obnoxious thank you and does a fist pump of triumph. Stage 1 taken care of.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur; he seems most of the same faces, bends the same knees, and does the same ultrasounds that he did on Monday. Don’t get him wrong, he loves watching his patients improve, but he’s anxious for the moment Jonny finds out what he did. It’s sometime around lunch that he gets his wish. Kate strides up to his desk, playfully shoving Sharpy along the way.

“In-Patient is on line 3 for you.”

Patrick snorts at her, “you could have just paged up here.”

“I needed to stretch my legs,” she says, fooling absolutely no one. And, as she turns to go, the group collectively watches Sharpy watching her ass.

“You are a sad, sad man,” Corey tells him solemnly. Sharpy just grins hopelessly.

Patrick shakes his head at them both as he jabs at the phone on the desk. “Kane, here.”

“’Baby’s Got Back?’ as my ringtone? Really?” The monotonous voice on the other end sighs in resigned disappointment.

Giddily, Patrick huffs into the phone, trying to play it cool. “That’s just to lure you into a false sense of security.”

“Thank god, I was worried.”

Patrick registers the sarcasm, and steam rollers over it. “Fear not, dear lady! There’s more to come,” he assures. Then, he hangs up in Jonny’s ear with a huge amount of satisfaction and dances delightedly in his chair. Time to plot for Stage 2. He doesn’t really have anything planned yet, but he’s going to think of something epic.

At the end of the day, a number he doesn’t recognize sends him a message that says _you’re bad at this_ , and nothing else. Patrick snorts and saves Jonny’s number. He has no idea what’s headed his way, Patrick is awesome at pranks. Totally awesome.

“You suck at this,” Shaw says, spinning lazily in his chair as Patrick bounces ideas off him.

Patrick wails. “I know! I know. What do I do?”

“Don’t know man,” Shaw chucks a pen cap at him, “don’t ask Sharp for help though. I think he’s on their side.”

Three nights later, when he stumbles into the rink with his gear for their usual Thursday night rec league practice, he almost loses it when he sees Jonny looking casual and chatting with Shaw. Leaving his bag on a bench, he hooks an arm around Duncs’ neck and drags him into the hall.

“What the hell.”

Duncs looks at him blankly. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me!” Narrowing his eyes, Patrick gives him a once over. “Jonny plays hockey now?”

“Apparently. He seemed really excited to come when Seabs told him we all do Thursday night rec. Actually,” Duncs says with a shrug and a sly grin, “he asked if you’d be here.”

Patrick blinks stupidly at him. “What the fuck for?” He gets another shrug in answer, and it just grumps him even further. Don’t they know this is war?

“No,” Duncs says. “This is a ridiculous competition between two grown men. You are both far too invested in this.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Patrick glares.

“I don’t,” he agrees easily. “Neither does Brent. Jonny’s starting to scare him. Ease up, don’t get so serious about it, okay? You’re going to give Q a heart attack.”

“Fun sucker.”

“That’s me. Let’s go back in.” Duncs pushes the door open for him, waiting patiently.

In the locker room, most of the guys give questioning looks, especially Corey, who’s shooting him some serious eyebrow queries. Patrick ignores them all and holds himself in a dignified manner on the way to his stall, and decides to stick his tongue out at Jonny’s back for good measure. And, because the universe is fucking with him, as he turns to do so, he stills. Jonny is wearing the tiniest black boxer briefs Patrick’s ever seen, and what is he doing, he is definitely staring. Room 201 was right… _That’s_ a butt. Recovering as gracefully as he can from the shock, he stumbles the rest of the way to the bench and immediately falls over it, trying to dig into his bag.

_Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing_ , he thinks as his cheeks flame.

Sharp grins because he’s a dick, personally sent by Satan to ruin Patrick’s life and humiliate him on a daily basis. “I think you dropped something!” he calls to Jonny.

Oblivious to Patrick’s horror, Jonny bends down, wiggling that magnificent ass as he searches around his feet. The room echoes with raucous laughter as Jonny calls out his failure to find anything in his near vicinity. “My mistake,” Sharpy tells him in between fits of wheezing. “Must have been a trick of the light.”

Patrick is seconds from dying, and all of his friends _suck so much_ holy fuck. He glares daggers at them all as Jonny turns and looks on, completely confused.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of rec night.  
> Patrick gets a little feisty and also makes himself look like a dork in front of Jonny.  
> Jonny is suspicious.  
> Q shouts.

By the end of that night’s skating, Patrick is furious. Not because it’s going badly, but because it’s going so _well_. Turns out Jonny can skate, really skate. He’s managing to keep up with Patrick, even if he can’t pull off some of Patrick’s moves. But even that doesn’t mean much, because he’s got moves of his own that Patrick wouldn’t know what to do with either. It’s not that the other guys aren’t good too, but with the other guys, it’s casual, comfortable — it doesn’t feel like a _challenge_. Skating with Jonny does.

Every time Jonny zooms by him, he’s got this little grin playing around his lips like he knows just how off balance Patrick feels. Even more annoying, Patrick realizes, is that he hasn’t skated this hard and this well in a while. He’s pushing himself for Jonny, and that thought makes him angrier. Why does he care what this superior douche thinks?

Seabrook claps his shoulder on the way off the ice, and it shakes a few additional drops of sweat loose from Patrick’s hair. “Good skate. Jonny’s good, eh?”

Patrick grumbles. “Jonny sucks.”

“Patrick.”

“Fine, he doesn’t suck at hockey, but he still sucks,” he allows grudgingly.

Brent shakes his head. “You are such a child,” he says, pushing past Patrick. He hears Brent call back down the hall, “and I’m not just saying that because you’re short.”

Patrick has a mini fit before he follows. He _hates_ being short, hates short jokes even more. Obviously, Seabs is well aware of this fact.

Upon entering, the sight of Jonny in the locker room in his little black underwear again is almost enough to do him in. Honestly, he’s not sure how long he’s going to last without either having a coronary or attacking Jonny’s butt if this cycle is slated to continue. Groaning helplessly, he plops on the bench and gives Sharpy the finger. He doesn’t even need to look; he knows that asshole is over there enjoying Patrick’s misery. Which, what even. Sharpy can’t get his own love life in order; he does not get to laugh at Patrick.

Patrick calls Erica when he gets home after stewing for a while. “Do you know anything about pranks?” She hangs up on him, so he dials her back. “I’m serious,” he says when she picks up.

“Why?” she asks suspiciously.

“There’s this guy at work –” Patrick begins, but she cuts him off.

“A prank will get him to notice you, Patty, but it won’t steal his heart. How many times do I have to tell you?”

Patrick splutters. “We have absolutely never had this conversation before!”

“Well big bro,” she says thoughtfully, “I’m pretty sure most of the guys you liked thought your dates were badly executed pranks, and I warned you about those. Same thing, really.”

Normally Erica is his favorite sister. He values her wit and humor. Most importantly, she’s usually on his side. Right now she sucks, just like Jonny. “I hate you,” he informs her petulantly.

“No you don’t,” Erica corrects, “we both know you like me best. Jess and Jackie both know it, too, ha!”

He can hear the smugness in her voice, and this time Patrick hangs up on her.

As Friday morning rolls around, he’s still feeling a bit spiteful and embarrassed. It’s this that leads to the early morning scene of Q wildly gesticulating and shouting loudly as Sharpy attempts to strangle Patrick, who has been singing “Sharpy and Kate, sitting in a tree!” at the top of his voice.

“Shut. Up!” Sharpy growls, widening his stance against Patrick’s attempts to escape the headlock in which he’s trapped.

“This is not a goddamn daycare!” Q hollers, face reaching an ugly puce color. He’s close to his tipping point. “Drop him,” he commands, mustache bristling.

Tightening his grip, Sharpy hesitates for just a fraction of a second before complying and dropping Patrick to the floor. He does not look happy. Naturally, Patrick gives him the smarmiest grin he can muster while fighting to regain breath.

Q is roaring. “In-patient, one of you! No, I don’t care who, go, just go.”

“I’ll go,” Patrick says, picking himself up and making a show of brushing dirt from the seat of his pants.

Sharpy snorts. “Of course you will. Don’t forget to treat the patients in between admiring Jonny.”

“Eat one,” he calls, flipping Sharpy off over his shoulder as he heads out the door. Dimly, it registers that he seems to be doing that frequently as of late. He does not pause to evaluate Q’s expression, an unusual mix of grumpy and surprised underneath a furrowed brow.

When he arrives at In-Patient he’s still feeling feisty, and he doesn’t see anyone waiting to greet him. Patrick decides to have some fun here, too. Taking scissors, he makes the smallest possible cut into the fabric of Duncs’ chair. Smirking to himself, he slides a thumbtack into the opening and positions it in the center of the seat. Then, he leaves to get some coffee from the hospital’s café. He’s bargaining on Q being too busy and too perturbed to call ahead and let In-Patient know he’d sent Patrick.

Silently, he thanks the universe for drink carriers on the way back. He hears the arguing before he sees them, and he snickers to himself. As he pops around the corner, Jonny’s the first to notice him and sends him a scowl.

“It was him,” he points at Patrick, effectively stopping Seabs and Duncs midway through some highly catty remarks.

“What?” Patrick asks, feigning nonchalance.

Jonny’s eyes narrow, if possible, even further.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Patrick protests feebly.

Duncs catches on right about then. Whirling on him, he takes in Patrick’s appearance. “You’re lucky you’re holding coffee. It better be for me, jackass.”

Holding the coffee up as a peace offering, Patrick grins. “I, uh, I got some for everyone? Just black.”  Seabs winces and Patrick laughs. “Dude, I know you have that fancy creamer shit in the breakroom mini fridge, suck it up.”

Looking suspicious still, Jonny eyes him. “You drink it first.”

Patrick’s eyebrows shoot up into what, he thinks regretfully, should be his hairline. “You want me to drink yours first?”

“Yes,” Jonny tells him in a tone that brooks no argument.

“You think I poisoned it or something?”

He doesn’t get a response. Jonny simply stares him down with beautiful brown eyes until he sips the coffee. So what if Patrick’s hand trembles and the cup shakes, he doesn’t have to admit anything. Although, he suspects he doesn’t have to. Obvious is probably an understatement after last night. Probably the whole Rehabilitation staff knows about his crush by now, even Q. His cheeks heat a little at the thought, and he chokes, spitting hot coffee all over himself.

“Wr-wrong pipe,” he sputters, wiping at his mouth.

Jonny gives him one last searching look before taking the coffee from Patrick’s outstretched hand, poking him hard in the chest, and whispering “I don’t trust you.”

A breath shudders out of Patrick as he watches Jonny go. He hadn’t even realized he was holding it, but shit, that was –

“Intense,” Seabs says slurping a large gulp.

“Smooth move with the coffee, by the way,” Duncs adds. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen such a spectacular failure.” Stroking his chin in mock though, he nods at Patrick. “Come to think of it, I think it was you last time, too!”

Patrick kicks him in the shin.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick's in a bad mood, and he's pretty sure he hates everyone.

As Thursday’s league night approaches, Patrick finds himself dreading facing Jonny on the ice again. He hasn’t seen the other therapist much since the coffee incident, they’ve each been busy in their own areas. After last time’s embarrassing conclusion, he knows this round definitely won’t go any better.

He knew he was fucked the first time he saw Jonny. Now, after seeing his skill on the ice and his (almost) naked ass, Patrick knows it’s even worse than he thought. He totally wants this guy’s babies, and he barely even knows him. Also, he’s pretty sure he’d be the ugly kind of pregnant, not the cute kind. “Ah, Christ,” he mutters with an air of misery.

The only other person upstairs is Corey, and he’s getting some side eye, but Corey mercifully does not ask. Patrick is eternally grateful, and does his best to be graceful about pretending he doesn’t notice. Refreshing Therapy Source on his screen, he realizes that Patrick Sharp’s new initial evaluation has checked in. It’s Belinda – room 201 – and suddenly Patrick’s in a much better mood. Making his way downstairs, he prepares to laugh the hardest he has in a while when Sharp meets this woman.

Of Course, he forgot about the part where the universe is out to get him, and frequently uses Sharp as a tool. Sharpy approaches Belinda with a smile and introduces himself. Patrick arrives just in time to hear her fawning over his smile and exclaiming that she should have been seeing him from the beginning. “That rat the hospital gave me,” she rattles, “was _awful_.” Sharp flashes him a grin as he guides her to a back treatment area. Kate laughs.

“That woman,” he whispers to her with vehemence, “is a fucking menace. He won’t be so smug once he has to put his hands on her.” Cringing, he tells her “I bet she’ll be trying to get him to massage her all the time.”

Kate snickers. “Don’t be so melodramatic. In case you haven’t noticed, that man can charm the pants off just about anyone.”

“Including you,” Patrick snarks back. She punches his arm in retaliation, and he winces because it actually kind of hurts. He goes back upstairs to nurse his injury.

Shaw claps his hands gleefully as Patrick explains the story while slumping into his desk. “You are not seriously telling me she hurt you.”

“She hits hard!” he squawks defensively.

“Hang on,” Shaw holds up a single finger, snatches his phone and punches in the intercom. “I’ll save you, make sure she never hurts you again!” Patrick makes a grab for the phone and hears Kate answer on the other end as Shaw pulls out of reach.

“Hello?”

“Kate?” Shaw starts happily, “I need you to stop beating poor Peeks. He’s afraid he won’t be able to use his arm to treat patients.”

Patrick can hear them both laughing, and it really just chaps his ass. “You fuck!” he shouts, chucking a stapler at him. He’s too little, too late. Shaw’s already collapsed sideways in a fit of giggles, and the stapler completely misses.

The rest of the day, Patrick is a complete grouch. Seabs even calls him Grumplestiltskin when he calls to inquire about an In Patient discharge date. Admittedly, calling him a caveman and hanging up probably didn’t help Patrick’s case. About five minutes after he’d slammed the phone down, Kate pages him for a call. Stepping out of the treatment room, he snags the nearest phone. The voice on the other end is Duncs’.

“Apologize to Brent,” he says menacingly. It’s actually pretty fucking scary and Patrick shivers and squeaks out an okay. He vows to himself that he’ll actually do it, too. Being murdered by a coworker would be a pretty shitty, and terrifying, end to his day.

That night, he stubs his toe on his night stand. He goes to bed feeling disgruntled and distinctly unsatisfied. The repeated shouts of “motherfucker” at eleven at night probably really endeared him to the neighbors.

Thursday morning, he wakes up downright surly. Then, as he’s making breakfast, hot bacon grease splashes into his eye and Patrick just _knows_ today is really going to be his day.

Walking down the hall to the rink’s changing room that night, Patrick hears someone shout behind him.

“Pattycakes!”

Patrick growls, literally growls, he’s actually impressed with himself. It’s Sharpy behind him, has to be. “Don’t touch me, don’t even look at me.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Sharpy drawls, falling into step with him. “That’s no way to treat a teammate.”

“You’re looking at me,” Patrick warns. “I swear to fuck I will drop your ass so hard tonight.”

“Maybe you should drop Jonny’s.”

Patrick can actually hear the accompanying eyebrow waggle. “Oh, fuck off,” he snaps as the enter and catch sight of the guys.

Before Patrick can escape him, Sharpys leans into what is distinctly Patrick’s space and whispers “you know you want to.”

Honestly, it’s so stupid and obvious that Patrick blurts “well, _duh_ ,” loudly and blushes like hell when all eyes swivel to him. “Shut up,” he groans at Sharpy before he can say anything, and walks stiffly to his stall.

On the ice, Patrick feels the tension start to drain from his shoulders. Until he notices Jonny’s eyes on him anyway. His skin pricks with sweat, which is silly because he hasn’t even started to really skate yet. However, Patrick refuses to believe that Jonny’s gaze has the power to make him sweat, god, how embarrassing.

While Patrick stands there sweating, he almost misses Jonny lose his footing and knock into Corey on his way to the net. They both go down, and Patrick snorts in amusement.

Regaining his feet, Jonny looks furious with himself. “Don’t,” he says warningly to Patrick.

Really, Patrick chooses to believe he’s doing a good job of restraining himself because there’s _so much_ he could say. He settles on “graceful,” with a half smile, and skates off. Jonny falls again, and Patrick hears him swearing.

That night, he plays like shit, and he knows he plays like shit. When the rest of the guys file off the ice, Patrick stays behind, dumping pucks to practice a couple shots. He assumes he’s alone until he hears someone murderer breathing behind him. Turning, he realizes Jonny’s watching him. “You breathe fucking loud,” Patrick tells him.

Jonny shrugs, but doesn’t appear to have anything to say, so Patrick mirrors the shrug back at him and returns his attention to the ice, the puck, and the net. Three successive shots bang into the post and Patrick laments the twinge he can feel gathering force in his wrist.

“Time to call it,” Jonny grunts behind him some time later.

Patrick jumps, but, he doesn’t fall, so points for that. “What?”

“Your wrist, looks like you could use a break for the night.”

Looking down, Patrick realizes he’s been unconsciously rubbing over his old scar, where the pain is building. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he might have pushed it a little far tonight. Jonny seems to sense it.

He slides to a stop next to Patrick, and he’s holding the bucket Patrick had dumped. “Let’s clear this mess up, and we can head out.” Patrick nods, and Jonny gives him an appraising glance. He looks like he’s warring with himself, but he nudges Patrick. “There’s a diner down the street. You feel like coffee?”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pat and Jonny are awkward, Sharpy is a terrible gossip, Duncs is starting shit, and Brent's just sick of it all.

It takes Patrick a moment to register that Jonny’s just asked if he wants to go for a late night coffee. His response takes so long that Jonny’s started to look uncomfortable when he mutters an affirmative. Patrick doesn’t want to look too closely at the hope that blooms in his chest at Jonny’s look of relief. Instead, he chooses to file that away for further examination at a later date.

They finish collecting pucks in an amicable silence and leave the ice to change. Patrick offers to drive and thoroughly enjoys the sound of horror that leaves Jonny when he catches sight of the Hummer.

“I changed my mind, I’ll drive,” Jonny says sounding pained.

Patrick smirks. “You’re riding with me. Get in.”

“Do you at least have a bag for my head?”

“Ha ha, this car is fucking awesome,” Patrick proclaims as he slaps Jonny’s back and moves to climb in. Jonny follows reluctantly.

It doesn’t take them long to find a small diner that’s open. As they slide into the sticky vinyl booth, Patrick realizes he’s going to have to talk. Thankfully, their server is prompt and they order quickly. The ensuing silence is exactly as awkward as Patrick expected it to be. They stare at each other, Jonny blinking those bambi eyes at Patrick.

“Good coffee,” Patrick says.

Jonny eyes him. “You should drink some water, too.”

“Thanks boss,” Patrick grins.

They sip quietly, both looking anywhere but at the other.

"So, your wrist," Jonny starts after a while. "Injury, or you just getting old?"

Pat grimaces. "Injury. Car accident when I was a kid. It usually holds up well enough."

Nodding sagely, Jonny disappears behind his cup. But, after that, conversation flows a little smoother. 

When they leave, Jonny insists on paying, and Patrick tries not to read too much into it as he slides out and promptly falls on his face. Naturally, he spends the night lying awake thinking about the whole ordeal, and Jonny's deep laugh at Patrick's expense. He's such a mess. 

 

“He does not.”

“He really does.”

“You’re such a liar.”

Sharpy widens his eyes earnestly. “Would I lie to you? Come on. It’s completely true, it’s hilarious.”

“You’re telling me Pat’s jonesing for this Jonny guy?” Kate laughs. “How on earth do you know that?”

“Hockey. The guy is good, you should see him. I keep thinking Pat’s going to maul the poor dude.” He pauses to sigh. “Peekaboo is an open book.”

She shoots him a disbelieving look. “Come on. Our Patrick? Really?”

“Yes,” Sharpy hisses. “Have you met this guy yet?”

Kate considers. “No, don’t think so. Why?”

“Giant, intense, competitive asshole.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Sharpy leers.

“That’s adorable,” she chuckles. “Well, it at least explains the tin foil thing.”

“Exactly,” he pauses to snicker conspiratorially, “little Peeks won’t be able to resist. We should start a betting pool.”

 

Patrick seriously actually can’t resist. He checks the in patient schedule Friday on his way out the door, and sees that Jonny’s got the weekend shift.

Saturday morning, he shows up, steaming cup in hand. Watching Jonny sniff the coffee Pat brings him like it might actually be poisoned is hilarious, and adorable. In retrospect, he kind of wishes he’d put something in the bottom of the cup. That would have been a laugh, and Pat thinks angry Jonny is probably cute, too. Consequently, he’s been seated at Seabs’ vacant station, sneaking glances at Jonny all morning. Jonny’s only caught him a few times, but he’s starting to give Patrick murder looks, like maybe Patrick should _stop_. Which, yeah, maybe, but he’s not going to. He kind of likes it when Jonny looks like he’s going to kill him.

“I’m going to kill you,” Jonny confirms when he finishes fitting a knee brace for a local football player about to be released. “I mean it,” he says, narrowing his eyes when Patrick pokes his tongue out. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? It’s the fucking weekend.”

“Nope.” Patrick grins happily at Jonny’s backside as he stalks off.

 

Monday morning finds Brent watching Duncan with a disapproving scowl. “You’re instigating.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Brent demands.

Duncan shrugs. “It’s fun.”

“For who?”

Duncan grins, wolfish, and Brent’s already resigning himself to an eventual intervention from Human Resources. This job will be the death of him someday, if he doesn’t die defending Duncs from Jonny and Patrick.

Midway through the afternoon, Jonny sits down to phone Dr. Murrie’s office. He’s got a patient with some pretty bad vertigo, and they need a prescription for vestibular therapy. Dialing, he rests the receiver in the crook of his shoulder, and immediately realizes something is wrong. It’s sticky. The receiver is stuck to his ear, and also in the unfortunate bits of hair long enough to flip over the top of said ear. The line clicks over, Murrie’s receptionist answers, and Jonny takes an extra second to identify himself because he’s busy _fuming_.

Thankfully, the conversation is short. Even so, the longer he’s sat there with a phone taped to his ear, the angrier he’s become, so he’s stewed himself to a pretty well-done state by the time he uses a finger to ring off the call. Slowly, he attempts to extricate the earpiece from his hair. It’s a little painful given that these particular hairs are attached to the delicate skin around his ear. He ends up yanking a few, and it pisses him off even more. He hates it when someone gets the better of him, and he’s going to end Patrick’s _everything_ the next chance he gets.

“What’s got him looking so constipated?” Patrick asks, gesturing to Jonny as he comes to a stop next to Brent and scribbles his signature on last week’s Initial Evaluation he’s just finished typing. He could’ve just emailed it, let one of the in patient guys print the copy for the physical chart. Instead, he took a page from Kate’s book and went to stretch his legs.

Brent turns, and stalks off towards the vending machine, tossing a “leave me out of this” over his shoulder.

“Huh,” Patrick says. He turns, intending to rifle for a snack in Duncs’ desk when he runs smack into the man himself.

“Careful there,” he says, steadying Patrick before he breaks his face.

“Dude,” Patrick huffs, “way to sneak up on me.” Taking a step back, he notices the pronounced smirk on Duncan’s face. He’s about to make an official inquiry when a shadow looms over him, and Duncs schools himself back to a normal expression. Turning, he finds that the shadow belongs to Jonny, who’s looking thunderous.

“You,” Jonny whispers, leaning down to Patrick’s eye level, “are a massive fuck. I will get you for this.” He does not give Patrick a chance to respond. Which, in retrospect, is okay since it takes Patrick more than a few minutes to close his mouth anyway.

When Patrick does find his voice after swallowing thickly for a few moments, all he can do is swivel his head to look at Duncan. “What?” he asks, turning to stare after Jonny. Then, as he once again turns to Duncs, “what the fuck?”

“Dunno man,” Duncs is back to smirking. “It looks like kind of a sticky situation.” He’s still smirking to himself as he saunters off, leaving a shell-shocked Patrick in his wake.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonny takes revenge.

“This is important, just make sure he doesn’t see you, and I’ll owe you a favor.”

Sharpy grins into his phone. “No favor needed, I’ll do it just for the entertainment value.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Jonny breaths across the line, excitement evident.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sharpy pauses. “Hey, someone’s coming up, I have to go. I’ll bring them over in a bit.” Hanging up, he turns to see who’s interrupted his scheming. He’s gratified to see that it’s Andrew.

“What,” Andrew says, glaring suspiciously.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Don’t ‘good morning’ me. You’re up to something.”

“Shawzy! Such accusations so early in the morning!” Sharpy exclaims, feigning innocence. “Is that any way to start the day?”

Sighing and dropping his computer case into his chair, he crosses to stand in front of Sharpy. “Breaking out the nicknames already, eh? What favor do you need?”

Sharpy grins. Shaw puts up a good front, but he enjoys pranks at the expense of others just as much as him. It shouldn’t be too much of a hardship. He stands, draping an arm across Andrew’s shoulders and leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, “when Peeks gets here, do me a solid. Let him dump his stuff, then pull him downstairs and keep him busy.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.”

 

Patrick shuffles through the clinic and up to his desk. He’d stayed up way too late watching _Jessica Jones_ on Netflix, but David Tennant though. Worth it, he’d decided. Shaw allows him to wallow in self pity for approximately twelve seconds, before shouting about Dexamethasone gel. Pat groans. “Did you check the mini fridge?”

“Yeah, not there.”

“What about the ultrasound machines. Did you check the side compartments?”

Shaw gives him a look from down below that quite plainly states that Patrick’s question is the dumbest one he’s heard all day. “Yes. Get your butt down here and help me look.”

Sighing in a manner reminiscent of _Napoleon Dynamite_ , Patrick shouts, “I don’t want to.”

Q pops his head out of the office down the hall. “What the hell’s the shouting about.”

“Shaw can’t find the Dex.”

“Then go help him,” Q snaps, looking unimpressed with Patrick’s general person.

Stomping down the stairs, Patrick grumbles about incompetent coworkers, and managers playing favorites.

 

Stepping from his hiding spot behind the bosu balls, Sharpy snickers, sneaking quietly to Patrick’s desk, rifling through his coat pockets. There’s a subtle jingling as he pulls the keys free. He doesn’t quite sprint down to in patient, but it’s close. Reminding himself to maintain composure, he glances quickly around the halls.

“Who you looking for?”

Sharpy shrieks and fumbles Patrick’s keys, watching them hit the tiles and slide. He scrambles after them. “Jesus Christ, do you always sneak up on unsuspecting coworkers?”

Duncs laughs. “Only when they look like they’re doing some sneaking of their own.”

“I’m not sneaking!” Sharpy says, indignant. “I just needed to drop something off with Jonny.”

Duncs hmm’s to himself. “Something? Would ‘something’ be Kaner’s keys? Because I know _you_ don’t cheer Sabres.”

“It’s recent,” Sharpy says, stalling.

“Uh huh, I see.” Duncs stares him down for a few more moments before huffing. “Fine, don’t tell me, but don’t let Jonny break anything.”

Sharpy beams. “We won’t!” With that, he squeezes past Duncs and jingles off in search of Jonny. He ends up leaving the keys in an envelope marked ‘Congratulations’ on Jonny’s desk when he realizes the man himself is working with a patient in the TCU.

 

Simultaneously, back in the outpatient clinic, Patrick turns to Shawzy. “Alright, what the fuck?”

Andrew pulls off a better innocent face than Sharpy, because he usually is innocent. “I swear man, they weren’t in the fridge before.”

Patrick’s blue eyes are narrowed in suspicion, “bullshit.”

“They’ve been there all morning,” Corey shouts helpfully from across the room. He shrugs when Andrew gestures to him to shut up.

Making eye contact with Patrick, he decides to run before Patrick can torture the story out of him. “Patient!” he shouts, and then beelines for the front.

“Shawzy, get back here,” Patrick calls after him.

 

Patrick is, of course, suspicious, but can find nothing amiss. He checks every inch of his desk, even the chair, and eventually finds himself at a loss. In fact, nothing at all out of the ordinary happens until around ten that morning. Just when he’d started to feel safe. Kate wanders back, stopping behind him as he’s manipulating a hip.

“Hey, there’s a guy on the phone about the Hummer. You want me to take a message?”

Naturally, Patrick’s first thought is that someone’s killed his baby. “Did he hit me?”

“Nah, he just wants to know if you’re willing to deal on price,” Kate says, grinning.

“Willing to deal on – what?” Patrick is so fucking confused, but he’s also kinda freaking busy at the moment. “Just take a message for me, I guess.”

She salutes. “Aye, aye, Captain!”

Returning his attention to his client’s hip, Patrick almost manages to forget about that weird incident, until he gets another call fifteen or so minutes later. He’s about to take his new evaluation to a privacy room when he hears Kate putting someone on hold with assurances of an answer.

“Pat,” she huffs. “This is getting out of hand. I’ve had three calls since the first one. This guy wants to know if he can take a test drive. Next time you want to sell your car, do it with your own number, yeah?” She pauses for a breath, “I’m the clinic’s secretary, not yours.”

Patrick is shell shocked. “I’m not selling my car,” he hisses, “what the hell kind of joke is this.”

“I don’t know,” she grumbles back, “but it’s really not funny.”

Hustling his patient to a room in back, he devotes himself to treatment until, forty minutes later, he allows the patient to assume a prone position and layers heat packs onto her lower back. Assuring her that he’ll be back when her timer goes off in fifteen minutes, Patrick ducks out and to the front desk.

He doesn’t even get a chance to speak before Kate’s in front of him, looking furious with a fist full of messages for him. He wants to ask how many, but doesn’t think that’d be wise just now; he elects to accept them quietly. “I’m going to go figure out what the hell’s going on. I’ve got my eval on heat in room three. I’ll be right back.” Trotting up to his desk, he plunges a hand into his coat pocket.

The moment Patrick realizes his keys are gone is the moment he nearly shits himself. _Fuck_. Sprinting, he hits the back door, and makes it to his parking spot, or what should have been his spot. The Hummer is gone. Patrick is going to have a coronary. This is goddamn Chicago; he doesn’t have time to find his fucking vehicle with a full list of patients. He hyperventilates. When he calms himself enough for logic to take hold, he realizes that this has Sharpy’s fucking signature all over it. The horrible part is that there’s still nothing he can do about it until lunch, when he has no patients.

At noon precisely, he corners Sharpy in the Speech wing and manhandles him into one of the rooms, slamming the door. He thinks about delivering a kidney punch, but realizes that would be unwise. Still he’s breathing hard, furious, when he releases Sharpy. “Where THE FUCK is my Hummer?”

Unfazed, Sharpy calmly nods to the door with a small smile. “You should ask Jonny.”

 

Reaching the in patient wing, Patrick steamrollers through everyone in his path until he reaches Jonny, eating lunch at his desk. Jonny appears to have been waiting for him, reaching to the side and raising his hand to dangle Patrick’s keys jauntily in the air. He looks so smug Patrick wants to kill him. He can’t do that, but he does snag the keys with his right hand while delivering a solid gut shot with his left. Obviously, he uses Jonny’s wheezing to get a head start, and hauls ass to the parking lot.

Once he realizes that Jonny isn’t going to chase him, he spends the rest of his lunch wandering the (frankly massive) lot clicking the alarm on his key chain and hoping. It takes nearly twenty-five minutes for him to find the Hummer, and Sharpy circles by him at least twice, laughing his fucking head off. Jonny’s window-chalked his windshield: FOR SALE, $2000 OBO and the clinic number.

It takes an additional fifteen minutes with wet paper towels to get the message smudged to a point where it is no longer legible, and Pat can see to drive to the car wash, which he’ll have to do after work. When he gets back to his desk, he lifts the phone, dials Jonny’s number, and says “game on, fucker,” when he hears Jonny pick up. He hangs up on the sound of Jonny’s laughter.


End file.
